Seems like fun until someone gets hurt!
by kat11bookworm
Summary: Tag to & spoilers for S4.11 Family Business. A short one-shot. Neal is never late and Peter gets worried.


**Disclaimer: **

**White Collar is the property of USA Network and the lovely Jeff Eastin, who lets his characters out to play with us. No profit is made and no offence is intended.**

**This story has not been beta'd, so any errors are mine alone!**

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Peter sat in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced over at the dashboard clock, the third time in as many minutes. Where the hell was Neal? He should have been outside waiting when Peter arrived to pick him up 20 minutes ago. If there was one thing about the charming and talented con-man you could rely on, it was his punctuality. Neal was rarely late without a damned good reason…and then it was usually because he'd gotten himself into trouble. Peter began to have an uneasy feeling in his gut, a warning sign he had previously realised should not be ignored. With all the dangerous revelations that had recently surfaced in Neal's life, Peter didn't feel it would be over-reacting to check and make sure that nothing untoward had happened to his young partner.

.

When Peter knocked at the front door, he was let in by the usual house-keeper, who advised him that June Ellington was away visiting her daughter for a week. She also told him that she hadn't seen or heard anything from Neal that morning. Peter quickly, but quietly climbed the stairs up to the rooftop apartment which Neal rented from June and noted that the breakfast tray the maid had left by his door hadn't been touched. Peter un-holstered his service issue pistol and carefully tried the handle of the door, which he found unlocked. He silently pushed open the door a crack and peered through into the main room of Neal's apartment.

The table in the centre of the room was covered with glass bottles of varying shapes & sizes. Some appeared to contain chemicals, but most appeared to be clear glass, empty of their original contents. Peter's nose caught a sharp pungent smell, laced with citrus, like the disinfectant's criminals sometimes used to try and clean crime scenes. He pushed the door open wider and entered the room, sweeping his gaze and weapon around, in standard FBI stance. There was no sign of anyone there, Neal's bed was still made perfectly and hadn't been slept in. The shirt & tie Neal had been wearing the day before were on the floor in front of the sofa, his jacket hung on the bedpost. Peter moved around the apartment checking for any sign of what had happened to his partner. He called Neal's name as he moved, listening for any sound, any indication that someone was there. When he was satisfied the initial room was clear, Peter repeated the process at the other door, which led to the walk-in which housed the late Byron Ellington's designer suit collection and the bathroom. After coming up empty with the room of clothes, Peter crept towards the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. He pushed the door open with his spare hand and looked into the room, causing him to stop in his tracks and his blood to run cold.

Neal's body lay on its side, on the floor between the shower cubicle and the toilet. His arm partially covered his face, but from the little of it that Peter could see, his skin was a lifeless dull grey. There was no visible sign of injury, no blood on Neal's white vest – but there was also no movement of his chest or any other signs of life. Peter holstered his gun as he leant forward to check the body. He rolled Neal's unresponsive form onto its back and felt for a pulse. He was relieved to find one immediately, a strong and regular rhythm.

"Neal, can you hear me? What happened?" Peter took hold of Neal's shoulder and shook it, as he questioned him.

The insensate body suddenly moaned, which turned into more of a whimper. Neal moved his hands to cover his face and then to hold his head. He muttered something, his voice too low and rasping to be heard properly, but Peter recognised the name of Neal's go-to criminal friend amongst the words.

"What does this have to do with Mozzie?" he asked.

"…'s all his fault. It was his idea." Neal moaned again.

"Why? What did he do this time? Peter's relief at finding that Neal was in fact alive was starting to turn to frustrated anger, as a parent after a child's actions have almost brought them to harm.

"Shhh! Peter… not so loud ok" Neal grimaced and squinted at Peter as he rested his head back against the shower door.

Peter took a deep breath to get a hold on his temper and calmly, but deliberately, renewed his questions.

" What was all Moz's idea, Neal?" Peter recognised the look that flitted briefly across Neal's face, he'd seen it so many times before. Neal didn't want to tell him, but couldn't think of a way to get out of it. Neal had once admitted to Peter that he never lied to him and now Peter could see the visible effort Neal was making to come up with something to tell him. Neal sighed with resignation, realising that he had no way out and mumbled like a truculent teenager. This time Peter understood what he had said, but found great amusement in making Neal repeat himself.

"I'm sorry, could you speak up a bit. I don't think I quite caught that." Neal tried to roll his eyes at Peter but obviously thought better of it when his head swam.

"Counterfeit tequila! Seemed like a fun idea when we started."

"Don't your ideas always?" Peter chuckled. Despite the worry and concern he had felt previously, he was now starting to appreciate the humour in the situation. He helped his unsteady friend to his feet and back into the other room to his bed. Peter made Neal drink some water, before tucking him in to continue sleeping off his monster hangover. He promised to call back in later after work to check on him and bring him some pickle juice, the tried & tested Burke family hangover cure.

Peter cleared away the empty booze bottles, salt shaker and lime skins, before leaving Neal to his recovery. A thought crossed his mind and he had to ask before he left.

"Neal, where did Mozzie go? He usually sleeps off his drunken excesses on your couch."

Despite the greenish-grey pallor of his face and the pounding in his head, Neal looked over at Peter and gave his patented Caffrey grin.

"He felt the need to leave suddenly after losing our bet." he said sincerely.

"What bet?" countered Peter.

"He got the counterfeit worm!"

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**This is my first fanfic – inspired by a line from last night's excellent new episode. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. **

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**Reviews are like cookies for my muse. Good reviews are like triple choc & macadamia cookies with no calories! ;0)**


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